


Mock Orange

by Nasserwraith



Series: A Fool's Gold [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Katsuki Yuuri, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Past Abuse, Romance, Top Victor Nikiforov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:35:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26649892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nasserwraith/pseuds/Nasserwraith
Summary: The morning after “Mock Cherry,” Yuuri awakens in Victor’s arms. It’s comfortable and wonderful, but he still has questions. He’s not quite prepared, however, for what Victor tells him when he asks. (Romance Erotica, Rated E for a reason).
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri & Victor Nikiforov, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Series: A Fool's Gold [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937818
Comments: 19
Kudos: 117





	1. Mock Orange - Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I guess I just can’t let sleeping dogs lie. Makkachin or otherwise (puns!). Anyway, this is probably going to come off as just another relatively mindless bit of Victuuri fluff but I’m starting to think there might be an actual story here. Either way, I hope you all enjoy it! Oh! Also, it will be in two parts. Emotional part one, sexy/steamy part two. - Nas

**PART I**

Yuuri woke slowly, though it was still quite dark out. Without moving he glanced over at the clock with bleary, myopic, eyes.

3am.

He sighed. It was a strange time of night for him; not really morning but no longer completely sloe black and dormant. His alarm routinely went off at 4 so that he could get a short run in before practice started but Yuuri had often found himself waking at this hour regardless. He’d then lie in the comfort of his quiet bed and think about nothing or imagine impossible scenarios. Usually involving Victor. Now, the irony was, however, not lost on him. He was awake, drifting back and forth over the threshold of consciousness with each breath, wrapped securely in Victor’s arms with his cheek pressed against his chest.

The gentle rise and fall of the body next to him told Yuuri that his lover was still asleep. But the feel of his warm, smooth, skin under an exploratory palm was more than Yuuri could resist, and he pulled his right hand from where it was wedged between them to run a few sly caresses over Victor’s hip and up along his side. Again, dream and reality merged. How often had he closed his eyes at just this same time to pretend that the pillows crushed against his middle were actually Victor’s back or that the feel of the cotton bedsheet was the silk of his skin. It was witchery to now have them both beneath his hands in the darkest hour before dawn.

For the first time, Yuuri also noticed something piquant to Victor’s scent. He’d always thought that Victor smelled good but warm in sleep and cooled from their previous love-making he tasted of something both peppery and tart. Like the orange blossoms in the flowering fences of royal gardens, Yuuri thought that it was not unlike the tangy citrus notes of the old-fashioned, spring-blooming, trees he called _pittosporum_. Not real oranges, not truly anyway. But a passive and undemanding plant that flowered freely, asked little of its caretakers, and filled the air with bittersweet perfume. 

Odd that he might associate that with Victor at a time like this.

The older man stirred and sighed, the sound somewhere between a gasp and a murmur. Lost in thought, Yuuri hadn’t realized he was being watched. And as he brought his gaze back up, he was met with a curious expression.

“Hey.” He whispered. 

Victor smiled and leaned back with one arm behind his head. 

“Can’t sleep?” His voice was low and relaxed, almost purring where it met the top of Yuuri’s head still balanced against his chest.

“No, I slept.” He answered mildly. “Just…I’m often awake at this time. Happens a lot actually. I usually just throw the blanket back over my head though and…I don’t know…hang out until the alarm goes off.”

“Hmph.” Victor chuckled. “Maybe I should get you up now for practice then. Or…” He seemed to adopt a coy smirk and a wink. “Did I work you too hard and now you’re sore?”

He was joking but Yuuri decided to act as if he were serious anyway. “Ughn.” He stretched and moaned with a combination of sarcasm and playful griping. “Yeah, you were terrible. I think I pulled my hamstring.”

Victor actually laughed. “I didn’t realize I was quite so off the mark!”

Yuuri huffed in response but took Victor’s calm joviality in stride. “You weren’t.” He replied softly.

They settled then, into a semblance of repose; cuddled together beneath the comforter as the wind outside continued to bob the lanterns into impossible knots and break against the window panes in nettle-like taps. Victor’s dexterous fingers had gone into Yuuri’s hair, where he idly sifted through the tangled locks with tender strokes and an insistent pressure as he mapped out the topography of the younger man’s skull. Yuuri felt a tension in him, however. Victor still seemed poised for a refusal; as if any minute now, Yuuri would leap up from the bed, announce his intention to not get any further involved, and traipse off back to his own room for good measure. Or, more specifically, that he was still waiting for a slap in the face merely delayed from earlier. And yet the longer Yuuri remained sedate in his arms, the further into uncertainty Victor spiraled. 

Finally, he spoke. “What do you think about?”

“Hmm?”

“What do you think about when you can’t sleep?”

“Oh.” Yuuri blinked. “Well. If I’m being honest, most of the time I would just…think about you.”

“What about me?”

A soft sigh and a squirm to get a little closer and more enclosed resulted. “C’mon Victor, don’t make me say it. It’s embarrassing enough as it is, ok?”

“Did you imagine us together like this?” 

Victor seemed to be implying something in his words, so although Yuuri found this particular line of questioning to be uncomfortable, he did note that his lover’s tone wasn’t remotely teasing, nor did Victor seem to be mocking him. Rather, he again seemed sad. Almost mournful.

“Yeah.” He replied; a growing sense of concern causing the syllable to waver. “I mean, sure I did. I’ve always been attracted to you, Victor, and that made me question a lot of things about myself. Especially over the last couple of years. Questions I don’t really even have all the answers to yet. But I’d also think about what you might say to certain things or just what kinds of things you might enjoy doing. I mean, I could have, like, whole conversations in my head. Stupid stuff, I guess. I’d just be thinking about… _you_.”

“You don’t know _me_ , Yuuri.”

This truly gave the younger man pause. He tilted his head up to see that Victor had turned away from him, his chain raised, and his gaze fixed on some distant point near the ceiling. 

“Victor? What are you talking about?”

“I guess there are things that both of us can never admit to.” He answered.

Reassuringly, Yuuri began to lightly run his fingertips over the swell of his lover’s pectoral muscles and then up to his face in a way of asking him to turn his eyes back down and look at him. After a moment’s hesitation, Victor did.

“Victor, please tell me. Something’s wrong. Why won’t you say what it is? Did I do something?”

“No, Yuuri.” He suddenly seemed to break, breathlessly wrapping his arms around the smaller man in a fervent embrace. “No, you haven’t done anything wrong. You’re perfect and I love you. You know that I love you. But …can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“What do you know about me?”

Yuuri couldn’t help but attempt to burrow deeper into Victor’s arms, pressing hard into his chest as he flushed in self-imposed shame. “Oh, I mean, a lot!” He gushed. “I’ve seen all of your interviews and every single routine. I’ve watched every performance; or the ones I could find online anyway and I even once had a copy of that really weird Q&A in Skating magazine. You know, the one where that lady kept asking you about whether or not your costumes were pre-shaped to fit a certain way? Totally flirting with you.”

Victor smiled a little. “Yes, Yuuri. I understand all of that. But what do you know about… _me_?”

“Uh.” Yuuri hesitated. “You mean, like, gossip? That kind of stuff?”

“Sure.”

“Um. Victor, I never really listened to any of that. I know what people say about us, all of us, and about figure skating and, you know, all that goes on behind the scenes at competitions and everything. I mean, look at what people say about Christophe! It’s…yikes. But it’s just rumors.”

“Not all of it.”

Yuuri immediately thought back to the last review he’d read of one of Victor’s final performances on the ice. ‘Well adapted to navigating the brighter sides of emotion.’ The author had written. ‘But tactless when forced to be serious. He’s almost childlike in his flippancy, until he emerges on the ice: a wildflower, beautiful and captivating but unexpectedly hardy. Victor Nikiforov remains an enigma.’

He began to wonder just how much he had actually missed in his obsession. What had Victor revealed in those ephemeral moments in the spotlight that no one had been able to read? Or had been unwilling to? Where was this pain coming from; or whatever it was that was making him withdraw into himself to try and escape down the same subliminal paths that Yuuri saw outside of his own bedroom window?

‘Skater’s hearts are fragile as glass.’ Victor had also once said. ‘They shatter and they never quite fit back together again.’

Yuuri didn’t want to leave the safety of his warm, loving, cocoon or the wonder of his first truly intimate moments with a man he’d longed for since he could think of what it meant to be longing. But whatever it was that Victor wasn’t saying, it was leaving cracks in his delicate exterior. Cracks he seemed to be holding together only through the white-knuckled grip he had on Yuuri.

“What is it, Victor?” He whispered into his neck. “What is it you want me to know?”

A long moment padded slow and silently out of the room, followed by many more minutes with equally soft footfalls on the braided floormats. Victor’s breathing became long and shallow but for quite some time he said nothing. He only held onto his lover, reflexively pulling him closer every time Yuuri unconsciously shifted against him. From time to time he seemed to be forming words, only to abandon them in favor of listening to the mumbling of ghosts in the old water pipes. Finally, he answered.

“I don’t mean to be the way I am sometimes. I hear myself saying things I don’t think are true. Or they’re just mean. Or I forget something I’ve said before and contradict myself. You’ve seen, I know.” He stopped.

Yuuri waited and didn’t interrupt. A moment later Victor continued.

“I don’t like myself when I do it. Maybe, in reality, I don’t like myself at all. I don’t like how I sound or the effect it sometimes has on people. I suppose this is one way of me saying that whatever bad reputation you’ve heard about me, Yuuri, it’s one I’ve earned.”

Yuuri squinted slightly, though there wasn’t anything specific he was trying to look at. He was confused. “You think a little flightiness is going to send me packing? Seriously? Pfff…Victor, please. As if that’s anything…”

“…But I earned it because it was better than the one they gave me.” Victor continued.

“I…” Yuuri tried to tilt his head up. “I don’t understand.” Victor still wouldn’t look at him and his words were becoming oddly disjointed. As though he were giving voice to piecemeal thoughts flitting at random through his mind, if not quite coming together into a coherent idea.

“I was 16 when I won my first major championship.” Was he still talking to Yuuri or to someone else he could now see in his memories? To the walls and the painted cherry trees outside? To the clock? “I dedicated my entire life to figure skating, from the very beginning. I gave up everything to get where I wanted to be. I didn’t date or really even have friends. I had tutors to get through school. My parents were…not around. I didn’t realize how alone I was…until…”

That hitch in his chest again. That butterfly tremble just behind his ribs where Yuuri still laid his head. Cold leaves clattered against wax paper in the breeze outside.

“…until the Russian confederation hired a new team physician.”

Suddenly, Yuuri thought he knew what it was that Victor couldn’t say. This _actually was_ a rumor he’d heard but like most of the skating community, he had brushed it off as outsider innuendo and misunderstanding. Years ago, when Victor was first making his debut into the upper echelons of figuring skating greatness, his team physician had been the subject of a scandal. No, wait…scandal wasn’t quite the right word. 

The revelation of a life of horrific sin.

They’d said that he not only touched his patients inappropriately during secret exams but that he had a particular predilection for “training” sexually-inexperienced athletes. The press eventually had all kinds of sordid details; some that were undeniably true from the start and others that were hard to accept. That he’d been keen on grooming the youngest hopeful skating prodigies with absurd promises while priming them for sexual acts they could barely understand, let alone resist. That he prized virginity as “purity” and then weaponized it against those he had already violated. Mostly to silence them when he grew tired of them or they grew too old for his tastes. It was awful. All of it had been simply awful.

In the end, he was finally arrested after another skater came forward to publicly accuse him. Followed by another. And then two more after that. Anger and outrage rained down chaos for weeks afterwards but despite the unending news coverage, Yakov, Victor’s ever-present coach, continued to deny that Victor had been one of the man’s victims in any way. Going so far as to say that he hadn’t even worked with Victor and so surely no stain could be attributed to the fiery, young, legend-in-the-making. It was all a great tragedy, Yakov had pronounced into a podium full of microphones, but certainly none of his immediate concern.

Yuuri thought he might just retch out his own heart. But Victor was saying something else and he disciplined himself and returned his focus to the man next to him. He needed to listen.

“I’ve never told anyone about what happened. I’ve never wanted to. Mostly, I just wanted to forget about it. Forget about the things he did. What he made me do.”

“Victor.” Yuuri sniffed, keeping his arms tight around his lover’s midsection in a desperate attempt to communicate the depths of his sorrow and compassion. “Victor, none of that was your fault. You have to understand that. You can’t possibly think that you’re responsible?”

Victor took a slow, deep, breath. “No. But I am for what came after.”

“I…what?”

“You have to understand that there was a time in my life where all I wanted to be was numb, Yuuri. I found people to hurt and people to hurt me. I got involved in a pretty rough scene and did a lot of things I’m really not proud of. I thought…I thought that if I could just stop feeling, it wouldn’t be so bad. I wanted to prove that what had…happened…didn’t matter. That I was in control and that I was still going to win despite…. But it didn’t get better and, eventually, word got out and around so much that Yakov shipped me off for “rest” at this clinic in Sweden. Pretty much to get my head on straight again before the journalists figured it out. I guess it helped. Well, sort of. I left the worst of it behind me when I got back home. I promised myself I was going to stay out of the old haunts and that I wasn’t going to get into any kind of relationships, and just focus on the art. That if I threw myself back into my work and new routines I would be ok. But…I still can’t tell if I’m alright some days. I still feel the weight of old habits…You deserve better…”

Of everything Victor had just said, Yuuri could feel the volumes sitting awkwardly between each spoken word. Within each phrase, shelves of broken tomes pushed to the back of a dusty corner so that only the newest, cleanest, and most colorful jackets would be visible. A library of all that was unsaid. Perhaps, all that would forever remain unsaid: all that needed to be burned and its inscriptions wiped away in the ashes. But there would have to be time for that later. Here he was, his crestfallen lover tense in his arms, waiting for a rejection that Yuuri still couldn’t believe he expected. It was heart-breaking: to think about what Victor had been enduring behind all those bright camera lights, while Yuuri and the world watched in reverence and awe. Imprisoning him on that pedestal just as much as he held it between himself and the world in the hope that it could protect him. To think that he believed that it made him unworthy now.

“Victor.” Yuuri finally pulled himself from the older man’s arms and carefully raised up so as to look down at his face. “Victor, it’s ok. Look at me. I’m not disgusted or upset. I know you think I should be, but I’m not. Honestly, I don’t think any less of you. I mean, sure, maybe you’ve done some things that would shock me but, let’s be real here, that’s not exactly a high bar to clear. I’m just happy that you want to be with me. How you got here isn’t going to put me off. I want to be with _you_.”

“Do you?” It was so soft. So vulnerable. The windswept wildflower clinging to the grass as the hurricane rolled in off of the sea and tore its roots up from the clay. 

Yuuri smiled, broadly and without reservation. “Yeah. I do.”

There was no preamble, no pretense to sensuality, in the kiss that followed. Only love; hopeless, destitute, and abandoned love trying once again to have courage. Trying to trust but not knowing how; learning the give and take of true intimacy. Defeated but still raising its fist to the Heavens one last time. A love that neither of them yet had the words for. _Agape_ , they had spoken. _Eros_ , they had shared. But this was a distance they’d not yet crossed and did not know if it had a name.

With a wanton sigh, Yuuri directed the kiss; pushing Victor back so that he could straddle his hips and finally be certain that he wouldn’t try to escape him, literally or metaphorically. He then pulled back and straightened up, sitting fully atop his lover as he looked down at his flushed and flustered expression. He stretched and arched, letting Victor see him as he then brought both of his hands down to trace nonsense patterns into his skin. Eyes bashful but filled with knowing. He wanted Victor to see the desire there; prickling his skin and messing up his hair as he ran his own fingers through it, watching Victor watching him.

Neon numbers flashed a warning.

3:45am

Deftly, sensuously, Yuuri leaned down to cover Victor’s chest as he also reached out a hand to turn off the bedside alarm clock. 

“It’s time for practice, Victor.” He whispered hotly against his mouth, barely loud enough to be heard. “And I want you. I want you to make me ‘ache.’ Work me hard. Show me how you mastered it. …Give me everything you’ve got.”

For the second time in a single evening, Yuuri saw stars.

The blanket was gone. One of the pillows was missing. The darkened lights on the ceiling were in the wrong order. And Yuuri was pretty sure he hadn’t even registered the lift and the flip until he was landing flat on his back in the center of the mattress with his head pointing towards the foot of the bed; Victor over him hard and fiercely pushing his thighs apart as he came down with him. His kiss was sultry; untamed in the same way that uncultivated ground yielded the most riotous flourishes and zests of color.

As it turned out, Yuuri mused, the unknown, innominate, love did have a name. Triumphant. Ascendant.

 _Victory_.


	2. Mock Orange - Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As if you have to ask. - Nas

**PART II**

Yuuri felt as if he had been doused in oil and set ablaze, all the while Victor kissed him hard enough to breath life into his lungs and draw out the smoke. Breath by breath, he was consuming him. Flowing in and around him until his lover was all he could feel, taste, and realize. When they finally broke apart, Yuuri lay motionless and breathing shallowly. His eyes were glazed. But Victor leaned back with a smile of gentle triumph and his head cocked curiously to the side.

The younger man looked near delirious. He stared at nothing and fumbled uselessly with the fold of the blanket near his hip. After being bereft for several seconds however, his eyes flicked up to where Victor sat looking down at him with an affectionate expression. He didn’t know what might be going through the other man’s head but he didn’t really want to stop and ask, so instead, he reached out for Victor and beckoned him back into his arms.

Obligingly, Victor leaned over him and feathered sweet kisses onto his cheek. Then his forehead. And then he gathered his tense lover into a tight embrace and held him. Just held him without anything more.

“Wha…what is it, Victor?”

“Shh, it’s nothing. Just lay with me for a moment.” He replied with another kiss to Yuuri’s forehead.

Yuuri let his head rest against Victor’s collarbone while they both calmed in the aftermath of the revelations they had just shared and as Victor continued to run soothing circles over his lover’s back. His other hand had already gone into Yuuri’s hair where he was idly playing with the ends of a few stray locks.

This sensation--being held--Yuuri didn't know quite what to make of it. The warmth and casual closeness of it stirred something inside of him. It was like a memory of something he had never actually experience but only imagined, or the echoes of a dream not yet entirely forgotten. But it also felt safe. What made it strange was that he was already home; in a place where he had always been sheltered and protected. So how then could it be that Victor’s arms felt more familiar than his own rooms, his own gardens or possessions? How was it that he could feel as if this were the embrace of someone who had been long lost to him in a time before and he was only now just recalling it? But the distant memory resurfaced and with it came a hunger for more of that feeling. More _warmth_.

Victor almost startled when Yuuri suddenly buried his head into his neck and pulled him closer. The younger man wrapped his arms around him tightly and pressed his entire body along the length of his with a muffled sob.

"What is it, solntse?" (Солнце: little sun) Victor gently pulled back and looked at him searchingly.

Yuuri only shook his head. What he felt was too vague and amorphous to put into words. Everything that was happening – from these half-formed feelings to the strangely soft look in Victor’s eyes – was foreign to him. Not only was he not accustomed to someone showing him such open affection, he felt as if he were violating one of his own secrets. He’d only imagined touches and caresses like this and only in his most solitary and private moments. Because they certainly weren’t ever actually coming true and to think of the ridicule he would endure if anyone ever found out what he fantasized about almost constantly. To think that Victor Nikiforov would ever love him would have been absurd, no matter how much he daydreamed. Actual Victor naked, warm, and _willing_ left him in uncharted waters and he didn't know what to do about it next.

His lover gently traced the backs of his knuckles over Yuuri's jaw and down his throat. Only Yuuri felt something completely different when he did it this time. A stirring in his chest. A flutter. A nagging at the back of his mind.

Victor watched wordlessly as stormy grey emotions rolled across the sky of Yuuri’s gaze. How lightening flashed in the distance and left streaks of orange and yellow energy collecting around the rim of his irises. And when the blue-green sea rose up to meet it, a warning depth of violet darkened on the horizon. It portended rain but only just before the dawn. What a beautiful sight it was to behold.

But then Yuuri shifted against him. "Let me." He whispered, reaching down Victor’s body for what he only guessed was likely to be his arousal, still strained and unsatisfied. Still crushed between them as neither were particularly willing to let go of the other first.

Victor caught his hand. "No. Not yet."

Yuuri searched his face with those same tumultuous eyes. None of what had been exchanged between them thus far had really settled with him and he was looking for answers. Or maybe a reason. Victor must have a reason for the things he said and did, and why he did them now.

"Lie on your back." Victor whispered quietly in return. "I want…I need… to make love to you."

His slighter lover didn’t appear to be entirely seduced but did as he was told.

"Spread your legs." Victor said as he reached for something that was sitting on the table beneath the lamp. A small plastic bottle, with black and lavender printing, was all Yuuri could make out of it without his glasses.

As the older man retrieved the bottle and moved to kneel between Yuuri’s outstretched legs, he could feel the tension returning to his body. Restless twitches traveled anxiously down his back and into his thighs. He was already hard from Victor’s ardor earlier and still slick from his previous rapture. So it wasn’t as though his lover needed to be quite so careful, even if he did appreciate his attention and diligence.

Without complaint, Yuuri laid back to allow Victor to do whatever it was he thought was necessary. And instead, decided to finally indulge in the one thing he had not yet allowed himself to really do. He looked at Victor. Naked, bared to him, and excited. For the first time Yuuri was afforded an unobscured view of the other man’s body as he raised his left hand to coat his finger tips with a bit of clear gel. Victor was, of course, stunning. Liquid grace in a tightly compact frame that made even the most difficult movements flawless to watch. His hair had fallen completely over the left side of his face, his eyes narrowed slightly in concentration, but Yuuri immediately noted what he liked the most. Victor’s neck and jawline were his absolute weakness, as was now the powerful curve of his shoulders into the rise of his upper back. He felt as if he could taste and touch these parts of his lover for days without satisfaction. 

He felt Victor begin to prepare him with gentle fingers. First one, and then a second, with his other hand kneading into Yuuri’s hip to soothe him. But he wasn’t hurting him and Yuuri gave no indication of pain. As Victor remained distracted with his task however, Yuuri continued to look at him. Until finally, he let his gaze drift down across all of that flushed, smooth, skin; luminous in the dim light, and to the erection nestled at the juncture of Victor’s thighs. He breathed deeply and sighed.

It looked as lovely as it had felt. Pale and austere like the rest of his lover, with the perfect amount of length and width that Yuuri had turned himself publicly red while imagining on more than one occasion. Unconsciously, he licked his lips and hitched a gasp; now thinking about all of the pleasure he could give Victor with his hands, lips, and tongue. He was also thinking about just how much he would enjoy doing it too. How he would taste. The sounds he would make as Yuuri swallowed him whole. But Victor took his reaction as something else entirely and slid his hand free. Even through the haze of arousal, his coach was still analyzing his every move and responding accordingly. 

When Victor then ran his hands amorously up and down Yuuri’s spread legs, he looked as if he wanted to say something. _I love you_. But it only lingered in the air between them; he didn't want the words to lose their weight. Rather, Victor conveyed everything in his touch, in his expression as he leaned over Yuuri’s prone body, and as he brought his face down mere inches away from his lover’s. His hair fell just far enough to tickle at Yuuri’s forehead and the smaller man couldn’t help but reach up and brush it out of their way. He was waiting for a kiss but received only a small smile in response.

After a moment, Victor finally angled towards him and placed a chaste kiss on the very edges of Yuuri’s mouth before hooking a hand beneath one of Yuuri’s legs to pull him further beneath him. Yuuri added to their connection by wrapping both arms around Victor’s neck and pulling him down flat against him. Before Victor moved again, more gentle kisses followed. To his cheek, the shell of his ear, his chin, and finally back to his lips. Such soft, tender, kisses that Yuuri thought that his heart might break if not for the sudden carnal spark that lit through him as he felt his body breached and Victor slowly, but firmly, entering him. 

"Shhh, it’s alright. Just relax." 

He released a shuddering breath.

"That's it, Yuuri."

Victor’s face was pressed into the crook of his neck, where he felt the man's warm breath on his cheek and his words straying into his ear. And the faint brush of his hair on his shoulder. Without thinking, Yuuri began to run his fingers through the tangled strands trailing onto the back of Victor’s neck. He felt a little dazed but reflexively tightened around the body that was taking him. A gasp then escaped him when he felt Victor slide deeper. A hitched breath and sigh when he did it again, until he felt his lover grow still; having seated himself fully inside of him.

“Are you alright?”

Yuuri actually chuckled a little. “Weren’t we in this exact position just a few hours ago? I don’t remember having any trouble then.”

Victor smiled and bantered back, “Yes, but I hadn’t just had you for half an hour at that point and I thought you might be sore.”

The opening was too much to resist. “Victor.” Yuuri squirmed and stretched under his hold. “I already told you. If you want me to be sore, you’re going to have to work me a lot harder than this.”

“Is that a challenge, zolotse?”

Yuuri turned his head and peered up at Victor – curious, and filled with excitement. Slowly, almost hesitatingly, he reached over to touch his lover’s face. He touched his cheek first, then slowly traced his jaw. Ran a finger across both eyebrows. Down his pointed nose. Then Yuuri ran a finger across his lover's parted lips; where he remained still lightly panting from holding himself in check. Victor, however, let his tongue run slowly up the pad of Yuuri’s thumb; earning him a shuddering breath.

Katsuki Yuuri was turning out to be far more sensual than he had ever imagined. If Victor wasn't careful this would all be over far too soon.

With skilled patience, Victor slowly pulled back and then pushed forward again. When he was halfway returned to him, he slid his hand between them to take hold of the younger man’s erection and stroke him into complete hardness. He tried hard not to relish in Yuuri’s low moans and stifled cries. He was too excited as it was and he wanted nothing more than to pound his lover into delirium until they were both begging for mercy. Briefly, Victor even entertained the idea of turning Yuuri over onto his knees, putting his hands on the headboard for leverage, and then mounting him from behind before fucking him absolutely senseless. Hadn’t he just been challenged to do so, after all?

But even more encouraged by Yuuri’s soft sounds of pleasure, Victor opted to let himself rock gently back and forth at an easy pace. Yuuri moaned and arched a little, but that was all. With a breathless laugh, Victor leaned back into the curve of Yuuri’s shoulder and ran his tongue up his neck. His lover murmured appreciatively and raised his hips, driving Victor deeper into him. It was something he had been waiting for.

“Yuuri” He whispered conspiratorially into his ear. “I want you in so many ways right now. I want to be kind with you but I also want to feel you clench and scream. I want you to beg for me when you come. I want you to cry out for me.”

As if to make the decision even more difficult, Yuuri dug his fingernails into Victor’s shoulders as he scraped light red lines down his back. Impossibly, his words were even more taunting. “I can’t, Victor. I can’t scream for you. I want to but…everyone in the house will hear. It’s already bad enough that I’ll have to explain to my parents that I’m sleeping with my new coach. Like figure skating isn’t already enough of an alien world to them.”

With forced slowness, Victor pulled himself out of Yuuri’s body, and then pushed back in. Hard. Yuuri let his head fall back into the mattress and moaned loudly, but he didn’t shout. Trembling hands ran up Victor’s slick back, savoring with wonder the powerful body covering him. He then grasped the full flesh of Victor’s backside and squeezed.  
“Will you promise me something then?” Victor’s voice was wavering. He needed release, or if nothing else, the chance to begin finding it.

“Anything.” Yuuri didn’t want it to sound so desperate, but it did.

“Win your next qualifier for me. Make it to the podium and then let me fuck you.” His tongue catching slightly on the fricative. “Back at the hotel, scream for me. I want to feel every bit of your pleasure, Yuuri. I want to feel you come cursing my name.”

Yuuri groaned deeply as his long fingers dug into more sensitive flesh. The heavy cock inside of him pulsed. “I’ll win it, Victor.” He shuddered through each word. “I’ll give you everything.”

Days later, Yuuri would think back on this moment as one of the most creative ways Victor had ever motivated him to perform to perfection in the _Eros_ routine. Much to their mutual interest.

Victor suddenly raised himself up and braced his arms on either side of Yuuri’s head, flexing his back with another groan. It was taking all of his self-control to refrain from thrusting madly into his lover’s tight heat but he reminded himself that this was just the beginning. There would be time for other pleasures, other indulgences. Reining in his seething arousal, Victor slowly, deliberately, started to roll his hips and move against the body beneath him. He pressed in, shivered, and then eased back. He then licked his lips; tiny beads of sweat running into his eyes. He was reaching his limit, but there was one last thing he wanted to do.

"W-what are you doing?" Yuuri asked through a huff of breath. The movement of Victor's body was so sensual; almost serpentine.

"Searching…"

"For wha— _ah_!" Yuuri's hands clutched a little too hard around Victor's backside and he arched off of the bed with a look of shock. Victor grinned.

"For your sweet spot." He thrust again. Yuuri gasped.

"Mmm, there it is." Victor growled hungrily. His body intuitively sensed that their intimate preparations were over and it buzzed in anticipation at what might be coming next. Victor responded to the intuitive call by raising Yuuri's knee to his waist and pressing into that same sensitive place inside of him again. He then used his weight to increase the pressure.

Yuuri almost tore the sheets as he opened his mouth in a soundless scream. The clamor of the water pipes and the wind outside would certainly drown out even some of their more potent cries but Yuuri had no doubt that an outright wail would bring at least someone to their door. Unfortunately, Victor wasn’t making it easy and Yuuri had to swallow hard around his own tongue to keep himself from dissolving into a yowling mess. Victor let out a shivering groan in reply. He then grasped the bedclothes next to Yuuri's shoulder and locked his arm to keep himself from falling over. Yuuri bit his lip under him and turned his head; as if to declare that nothing more would be pulled out of him.

"Don't hush yourself completely." Victor worried his lips along Yuuri's jaw. "At least let me hear how it feels for you. Please, Yuuri."

Victor barely registered a nod before he anchored himself, and then began to move in earnest.

He arched his back, thrusting deeply; keeping all of his concentration fixed on that special spot inside of Yuuri's body. Every thrust was slow, deep, and precise: designed to work that bundle of nerves every time without fail. It also kept him close to his lover, chest to chest and skin to skin so that he didn’t have to part from him for even a second.

Yuuri was beside himself. Each time Victor pressed into him, his body ignited. Prickling waves of heat rupturing outwards from his center until they collapsed into his limbs and flashed over the crown of his head. He scarcely had time to recover from one prismatic burst before another one wracked his mind. Every inch of his lover’s body moved in him and on him such that Yuuri had absolutely no control over the waves that battered and shook them both. He could only cling to Victor and pray they rode out the storm together.

"Let me hear you." Victor beseeched him in a low, sultry, tone. “I need to hear you.”

Yuuri winced in pleasure and parted his lips: a breathless, shuddering, moan escaping him.

“Yes. Like that." Victor replied through his own barely-contained plaints.

With difficulty, Yuuri surrendered some of his control. He trusted Victor, and knew it would remain with him for safe-keeping, but it was something that had never come easily to him. When he did, however, he sensed the change in his lover’s responses. As he submitted, Victor held onto him tighter, sobbed through something incoherent, and thrust hard. Suddenly, Yuuri felt like Victor’s body had been …released. As if he had just broken through invisible chains; the tension in his shoulders and his back disintegrating. Yuuri’s thighs fell open and he arched into the thrusts, finally crying out. 

In fragmented words; English, Japanese, and something else, Yuuri begged for more. He told Victor all about what he was doing to him, how much he needed him, and then he marveled at the wonder of it all. Honestly, he couldn't even really tell what he was saying anymore; he only cared what it did to Victor to hear it. Victor, for his part, punctuated the last of his rushed and tumbled confessions with a series of deep, fast, thrusts.

Yuuri threw his head back and howled. “Oh…. _Oh God_ …Yes…make me feel it, Victor…make me feel you…”

At that, his sharp cries were joined by another voice; softer but no less passionate. Victor shuddered above him and moaned with impassioned frustration when Yuuri harshly snapped his hips up to meet his next return.

"Ah, _yes_. Yuuri." It came out in gravelly vowels that almost made it seem as though Victor might be on the verge of something momentous himself. And Yuuri very much wanted him to be. He wanted to see Victor’s face undone as he reached his peak. He wanted to _see_ him come, and in doing so satisfy virtually every adolescent fantasy he had ever entertained. Actually knowing what Victor looked like and felt like in the throes of orgasm was a precious secret he would never reveal to anyone else. From below, Yuuri rocked in tandem with his lover harder, delighting in Victor's welcoming exclamations as he did.

"Yuuri!" He called out again, this time pleadingly. “I’m…"

But Yuuri was not yet done with him. With practiced muscle memory, he wrapped his arms around Victor’s torso, cradled his hips between his thighs, and forcibly rolled them. Being somehow raised and then nearly thrown down to the bed was clearly not something Victor was expecting, and his cry of surprise rang loud in the still room as he landed onto his back in the center of the mattress. Yuuri, however, had not parted from him and with a wicked grin, pinned Victor to the bed by his wrists as he immediately picked up a bruising pace.

In truth, not only did he want to see Victor come, he wanted to take him completely apart as he did so. 

The effect was immediate as Victor began to thrash and stutter beneath him. He didn’t seem to know whether he wanted to simply watch Yuuri riding him or grab onto him and help.

But in smooth, undulating, motions, Yuuri showed him just how salacious he could be; how the sheer eroticism of moving on top of his lover could make him whine with need and fondle his own arousal as he impaled himself over and over again. Victor tossed his head back at the sudden surge of pleasure and almost lost everything. But he didn't want to miss a moment of Yuuri's love, so he forced himself to look back at his lover. To concentrate on the warm palms splayed over his arms and not on the impossible heat and friction surrounding his straining erection. He was so close to shattering; just seconds away from giving up every last drop of his essence into the man above him. Yuuri was breathing hard. Dark strands of hair streamed down his forehead, wet from sweat. A trickle of clear salt glistened just at the hollow of his collar bone. He wanted to taste it but Yuuri held him down and began to deliver sharp, demanding, thrusts with each snap of his hips. It was his moment of defeat.

The last thing Victor saw before his world ended was Yuuri’s eyes, staring down at him with such an intensity that he thought they might pierce his soul. 

Yuuri exulted in the glory of Victor’s undoing. He watched as his eyes darkened and became unfocused. His brows drew together, the furrows in his forehead stood out as his face tightened into a visage of tears. He looked as though he were momentarily caught between grief and terror; keening through his pleasure with a cry that left Yuuri shaken and triumphant. Then, he was lost. Victor writhed against his hold, squeezing his eyes shut, his mouth falling open as he thrust up into the smaller man once, twice more, and spilled himself with the most decadent moan Yuuri had ever heard from him. He felt the cock inside of him pulse as his lover came with agonizing strokes, and the searing liquid heat that followed was exactly what he wanted. Victor was beautiful in release and now he intended to join him. He let go of Victor’s wrists, allowed the other man to grip firmly onto his hips, and fucked himself hard.

Yuuri shortly noted that he was going to have to apologize to Victor for ever insinuating that he had no stamina because, even though his lover was still in the midst of spending himself, he took him in return with full, unrelenting, thrusts. Even when Victor’s expression began to show the sweetly intense pain of overstimulation, he didn’t slow or stop. Even when it was clear that he had nothing more left to give, he did not pull away. And as far as Yuuri was concerned, it was an amazing performance worthy of the highest reward.

With his own orgasm crashing down onto him, Yuuri straightened up for Victor to see him, threw his head back, and screamed his name. Long, and loud.

It took a long time for either of them to come back to their senses. The first thing Victor felt was a warm, slick body panting hard on top of him. Then the cooling wetness decorating his chest. He blinked several times, trying to dispel the blank white that floated before his vision. With persistence the blank carpet devolved into bright spots over his eyes, and within moments the ceiling of their room finally came into focus again.

“Yuuri?” He called softly.

“I’m here.” He coughed, still clearly rather out of sorts.

“Yuuri…that was…”

“Heh. Yeah.”

"I …didn't expect you to be so… commanding." Victor whispered with a bemused smile. "If you’re going to be like that…maybe I'll have you top me the next time around."

Victor felt Yuuri snort rather inelegantly against his shoulder. He was sure the younger man was blushing.

Smiling affectionately, Victor pressed his cheek against Yuuri's temple and ran his fingers through the black silk strands plastered wildly over his head. His lover leaned into the caress and sighed, satisfied and content. 

Victor then laid back and let his hands wander over Yuuri's face. The younger man sighed again and grasped Victor’s chin with his thumb and forefinger as he pushed himself up slightly. He smiled agreeably at Victor with a soft glow in his eyes that the other man did not yet recognize. Then, somewhat unexpectedly, he came down for a kiss. It was passionate, demanding, and Victor was drawn into it like a moth imprisoned in a lantern flame. Yuuri tasted and smelled of ardor, fury, joy, and ecstasy. He wanted it. He wanted all of it. Now and forever. So much so that he just might…

A sudden knock at the door stunned them both into vaguely panicked silence.

The garish, neon, clock ticked over. 

4:30am.

“Everything OK in there? Yuuri?”

…. Well, damn.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

****

**Mock Orange** _Louise Glück_

It is not the moon, I tell you.  
It is these flowers  
lighting the yard.

I hate them.  
I hate them as I hate sex,  
the man’s mouth  
sealing my mouth, the man’s  
paralyzing body—

and the cry that always escapes,  
the low, humiliating  
premise of union—

In my mind tonight  
I hear the question and pursuing answer  
fused in one sound  
that mounts and mounts and then  
is split into the old selves,  
the tired antagonisms. Do you see?  
We were made fools of.  
And the scent of mock orange  
drifts through the window.

How can I rest?  
How can I be content  
when there is still  
that odor in the world?

("Mock Orange" from The First Four Books of Poems by Louise Gluck. 1968)


End file.
